


Gone Country

by betweentheloins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheloins/pseuds/betweentheloins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy, a photographer and journalist, has taken on an assignment that brings him to the concert of steamy country music star Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Country

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr: @whysotensepotter
> 
> Many x's and o's to the fabulous Ellen, who is a fantastic beta and encouraged me to finally post a fic. You're a doll and I don't know if I would ever have published anything without your support xD (Any final errors are my own)

Draco sighed as he held up his press pass and entered the stadium, making his way through the throngs of people that were also trying to find their seats— or decent standing room. There were people everywhere he looked. Normally Draco would never attend an event like this, but Blaise hadn’t been able to take the assignment due to some domestic shit or whatever. Draco took it, but someone would definitely owe him a favor for this atrocity.

He stopped short just before the steps that would take him down to the front of the stage, narrowly missing the splash of beer that someone had let slip over the side of their cup. “The doors just opened,” he muttered, “and these imbeciles are already sloshed.” 

Too bad he wasn’t. This would be a lot less agonizing, he thought, eyeing the beer cart as he passed. 

He eventually found the roped-off press area and began prepping his camera with the right lens and settings— as much as he could, anyway, in the current lighting. Who knew what adjustments he’d need to make once the show started. He finished fiddling with his camera and glanced down at his phone— still 45 minutes until the opening act, then however long it took for the main event to start— depending on how much of a diva the singer was. He sighed and tapped the Solitare icon on his phone, settling in for a long night.

***

Harry was not looking forward to tonight’s show— this would be his 8th performance in three weeks and he was just itching for a break. Thankfully this was his last show for the next two weeks and after tonight he would finally be able to relax. 

Hermione stuck her head around the door frame to his open dressing room. “Harry, are you ready yet?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard. “We have fifteen minutes until your first set.” 

He sighed. “Yeah, almost,” he told her, glancing apprehensively at the wretched contact case on the counter. 

She took pity on him, as she did every night. Honestly, he didn’t know what he’d do without her. It felt like she was his only friend on this tour. “It’s just for a few hours, Harry, then you can take a break.”

“They make me feel naked,” he griped childishly.

“I know...” she said unable to think of anything else that would comfort him. “I’ll see you in ten.”

He grumbled a little bit as he removed his glasses and reached for the case that contained, in his opinion, one of the greater evils in the world. 

***

The opening band, “The Weasley Brothers” or some other ridiculous family act, was finally leaving the stage. Funnily enough, most of the press were here for them— they were an up and coming band and though Harry Potter wasn’t necessarily old news, a trio of deliciously fit, red-headed brothers in torn up jeans and spurs were certainly a hot topic these days… 

But that was not Draco’s assignment— which he had to tell himself several times before they left the stage, or else he’d have probably left with one of them. It has been a while since he'd been with anyone. He could use a one nighter. And a frickin drink, he thought. The beer cart was quietly calling his name from the top of the steps that lead into the bowl-shaped arena. 

“What the hell is so great about this Potter anyway? I don’t understand why Parkinson wants a spread on him so badly,” Draco mumbled, and looked down at his camera screen once more for some last minute adjustments. The show was finally starting— Draco may actually make it home before 2am this time.

“Hello Detroit!” everyone heard through the speakers. It felt like the ground would start to move soon with all of the stomping and screaming that the voice had elicited.

Typical, he thought. We’re not even in Detroit.

“Or should I say Clarkston?” 

The crowd did not roar quite as loud, but you could tell that there were some locals. Well, damn, Draco thought. Someone finally knew where they were. He looked up through his camera and saw, to his sweet surprise, the type of person that he never expected to see on stage at a country music concert. 

Harry Potter, as it would be, was dressed simply in a black t shirt and dark blue jeans— he’d even forgone the hat that Draco had come to expect to be on all country stars. Harry’s dark hair fell untidily in his eyes, which were a stunning green. They took Draco’s breath away. 

“I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. I’d like to start with a song I wrote— one of the first I ever recorded— about someone I met in a bar. I know I’ve got some fans out there who know this one—” there was a great roar from the crowd, and a woman with a shrill voice most surely almost pierced Draco’s ear drums from the row behind him— “so I hope you’ll help me along.”

Harry began singing and it was like Draco’s heart had leapt into his throat. He gulped as the lyrics told them about Harry wanting to take that person in the bar home after a drink or two and let them know what he could do…

Draco was just thinking that maybe this wasn’t such a bad assignment after all— the subject was certainly interesting… He began to raise his camera to take some test shots...

When Harry caught his eye from center stage and didn’t look away.

***

An hour and a half into the concert and Draco nearly dropped his gear when he realized that he’d been letting the camera dangle from his neck all night and had completely neglected to take any photos of Harry. 

“Shit!” he hissed, then began to snap away— but Harry wasn’t looking. He had been looking directly at Draco all damn night, singing about riding down dirt roads and shots of whiskey and laying out underneath the stars, and he’d decided that now was the time to stop? Eye contact would have made for some great shots…

And ten minutes later, the concert was finished. Somehow Draco had not gotten a single decent photo of Potter and had completely missed the final song— and Harry’s exit. 

Draco packed up his things slowly, muttering profanities at himself, and waited for the crowd to thin out. When he saw an opening, he slung his bag over his shoulder. He’d have to think of a reason he didn’t get the photos… Or stall with Pansy and quietly book a press pass to the next show, which was probably several states away…

“Excuse me,” a tall, dark security guard stopped him as Draco tried to exit the press area. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“What? I— I’m allowed to have this equipment, I’ve got a press badge—” 

“Please,” the guard gestured, and lead him back stage through a set of guarded security doors.

They marched down a creepy, undressed hallway— someone had gone a little crazy with the sheet rock and the nail gun but had totally neglected a little thing called paint— for what seemed like much too long. Draco’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t believe his luck: no photos and he was being taken to… What, concert jail? Was that even a thing? What more could possibly go wrong?

His phone beeped twice from his pocket and then vibrated very abruptly…

It had died. Fantastic. Fucking Solitare. 

The creepy hallway had lead to a set of stone steps and then a heavy steel door, then another slightly-less-creepy hallway with real lighting and even carpet.

“I demand to know what the hell— OOMPH!” Draco huffed, having run right into the security guard, who was looking him up and down now as though he would like nothing better than to flick the tiny flea that was Draco right off of the earth. 

Apparently they had stopped— Draco suddenly realized how very large the guard was, now that he was next to Draco’s own pathetic, Chinese-takeout-four-nights-a-week build. Thank goodness for his ridiculous metabolism. 

The guard knocked slowly on the door, never taking his narrowed eyes off of Draco. 

“He said to let him right in,” a bushy-haired woman with a clipboard said as she jostled past the two of them. The poor thing looked like she couldn’t fight her way out of a wet paper bag, but something about her tone made Draco think that she might do a little more damage with her words.

The security guard opened the door they had stopped at and gestured for Draco to enter the room, which he did. As soon as he took a few steps, however, Draco pivoted around and began again, “What the hell—” SLAM!

Okay, so now he was alone in a poorly-lit room with… A very nice white sofa. Actually, two very nice white sofas. And a coffee table. And the most fantastic white faux fur rug that Draco had ever seen. He dropped his bag on the closest sofa and got on his hands and knees, determined to touch the rug to confirm that it was, in fact, as soft as it looked… 

This couldn’t be concert jail… Though he didn’t know what concert jail looked like… Was there even such a thing? ...

“Er— hi?” A voice said from a small hallway that Draco had missed upon first inspection. And there, in front of him, was Harry Potter— clad only in a plush white bath robe. He was wearing a pair of glasses that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but seemed to suit him just fine, which were being jostled by the towel that Harry was vigorously rubbing his wet hair with. 

Draco clamored up off of the floor and stood up straight, trying and failing to look casual after being caught with his ass literally in the air. 

“It’s you,” he said intelligently.

Harry looked at him anxiously. “Did no one tell you that I asked for you to be brought in here?”

“Not exactly. You could do with some better communication around here— I thought I was being taken to concert jail or something.”

“Why would you be taken to concert jail? Wait, no, that’s the wrong question— what the hell is concert jail?”

“How should I know?! All I know is some big brute told me to come with him and apparently no further explanation was necessary.”

Harry chuckled. “Dean only looks like a brute— last year for my birthday he bought me a puppy, then ended up keeping it for himself because he couldn’t bear to part with it. He named it Fluffy.” 

Laughter was a good look on him, Draco decided. “Let’s try this again,” Harry announced. “Hi, I’m Harry Potter,” he said, extending his hand.

Draco looked at him still skeptically but took his hand all the same. “Malfoy,” he said. 

“Do you have a first name, or is that something I have to work for?” Harry grinned, intrigued. My God, he was a cool drink of water. Harry stood an inch or so shorter than he did, Draco noticed.

“... Draco.” He said, dropping Harry’s hand. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. 

“Well, Draco Malfoy, did you enjoy the show?”

“Too much, actually,” Draco blushed slightly, “I’m going to have to go to my boss tomorrow and somehow explain to him that I didn’t take a single decent photograph in all of the four hours that I was here.”

“You’re a photographer?”

“I thought that would have been obvious,” Draco replied snarkily, glancing toward his gear bag.

“Yeah, well, a lot of things are obvious, but humans are easily distracted.”

An awkward silence filled the air for a moment before Harry spoke up again. 

“Shall we take a seat?”

Draco sat on the sofa with his camera bag on it and fidgeted uncomfortably. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but why the hell am I here?”

Harry’s face fell in disappointment. “You— during the concert— I… Sorry. I must have been imagining things… The light, you know…”

“Imagining what?”

“Your— er— interest… in me.”

Draco fought the creeping heat again and prayed Harry wouldn’t notice. “You put on a decent show.”

“Thank you,” Harry said politely. 

“You were looking at me,” Draco said vaguely.

“I was.”

More awkward silence. 

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Harry told Draco, “I’m not very good with— er— some social cues. I’ll just let you get on with your night.”

“Actually—” Draco began. Harry eyed him curiously. “I took this assignment from a pal… His wife went into labor today. I don’t want to get him in trouble by going back with nothing to show for it.”

“You want me to pose for some photos?”

“Well— I— no, it’s alright, I’ll just go… I’m sorry I asked...” Fuck, Draco cursed himself.

“Sure.”

Draco was in the middle of hoisting his bag over his shoulder when he almost dropped it again. “Sure?”

“Yeah, why not. I can pose for a few photos,” Harry said nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the sofa, amused.

Draco removed his bag from his shoulder and began to unclasp the clips methodically. “I only need two or three decent ones. I can be out of your hair then.”

Harry smirked at Draco, staring at him through those ridiculous...ly sexy glasses. 

Draco tried to focus so he could direct Harry, with some mild success. “We could do it on stage? The photos, I mean,” Damn it, “Or even in here, if you’d like. They don’t have to be performance photos.” 

“Sure, I’ll just go… Put on some clothes…”

“You don’t have to. I mean… This is good— I mean— fine— unless you want to…” Draco stammered. His chest was burning with embarrassment. 

Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco again and then relaxed into the couch. “This is fine,” he said.

Draco fumbled with his camera bag once more and eventually succeeded in extracting his equipment from it. “Do you mind?” he gestured toward the other sofa and the coffee table. 

“Please,” Harry said, waving his hand as though to magically wave them away himself.

Draco got to work shoving the furniture out of the way so he could kneel down on the floor and get further away from Harry, then worked on adjusting the settings. The light in here wasn’t ideal— he’d kill for some of his lighting equipment right now— but that’s what editing was for.

He abandoned the camera where he was and made his way over to Harry again. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” Harry said, no stranger to photo shoots. 

Draco began directing Harry, gently taking his limbs and placing them this way and that. The end result was Harry leaning back into the sofa. One leg dangled to the floor and the other was tucked under it, so the back of his knee rested on his ankle. One arm was laid across the back of the couch, crooked at the elbow so that his fingers rested gently in his hair. The other arm rested along his thigh, his hand just touching his bare knee. In the process, Harry’s robe had fallen open slightly— Draco could just see a light sprinkling of chest hair. 

Draco made his way back to his camera and started shooting. Harry broke the position after several minutes. “Wait, sorry,” he said, pulling off his glasses. 

“No, don’t—” Draco disrupted him.

Harry shrugged and put them back on, fighting a smile. “Most photographers hate these. Well, most people, actually.”

Draco chewed on his lip for a moment. “They suit you,” he finally blurted, blushing. He gulped and took a breath. “Now, maybe… We could push the other sofa out of the way and get some shots from above with you on the rug?”

Harry shoved the other sofa out of the way himself and laid back on the plush white rug. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Draco said from above him, standing on a chair he’d found in the corner of the room. “Well, no, wait.” He got down and knelt next to Harry, gently brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. 

“Better?” Harry asked. Draco could feel his cool breath reach up around his jaw, like crisp tendrils that wanted nothing more than to caress his skin. 

“Yes,” Draco squeaked. He clamored back on to the chair and took his shots, directing Harry’s gaze this way and that. 

“I think one more pose should do it,” Draco said once he had dropped back down to ground level, looking through his camera roll. 

“Yeah?” Harry said in his ear. Draco damn near jumped out of his skin, not having noticed that Harry had risen from the floor and gotten so close to him. 

“Jesus,” Draco hissed as he walked away, setting the dining chair he’d just been standing on in the middle of the fur rug. 

“What was that?” Harry asked, adjusting the loosely tied belt on his robe.

“Sit here,” Draco ignored the question. “No, backwards, with your legs around the sides. I won’t look… You can make sure you’re… covered.”

Harry chuckled and sat down with Draco still watching, his legs spread with the chair between them, the back of the chair in front of his chest. The robe rode up his leg, revealing more of his pale thigh.

Draco breathed in through his nose and clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the fact that just in the shadows underneath his robe was…

He shook his head slightly to clear it and began shooting again, but something was missing…

He set his camera down and moved to adjust Harry’s robe, which had come slightly loose, when the sleeve fell and left Harry’s shoulder fully exposed. Several delicious inches of creamy, smooth skin that Draco was just aching to…

“I was looking at you, too,” he blurted. 

He almost felt Harry’s intake of breath before he heard it. “And?”

Draco’s eyes never left Harry’s shoulder. “You’re very— um— fit.”

“Maybe I’m not so bad with reading people after all,” Harry murmured.

“Oh, no, you’re shit at that,” Draco told him honestly, “I’m just blatantly obvious.”

Harry smirked. “What did you say these photos were for again?”

“An article,” Draco breathed, still frozen.

“About?”

“Country Music’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”

Harry’s smile widened. “I think your article could use some adjusting…” he said. 

“Oh?”

“You’ll just be leading these poor women on to a man who has no interest in them.”

“And what do you have interest in, then?”

Harry bit his bottom lip and turned toward Draco, leaning in to whisper in his ear. 

“Snarky blond photographers,” he whispered.

Draco pulled away, and for a moment Harry worried that he was frightened, until their lips met and neither of them knew how Harry had made it on to the floor and the chair had been flung aside and their hands were exploring every inch of each other and the scary woman named Hermione was knocking at the door and Harry was shouting for her to lock the door and put up his “Do Not Disturb Sign.”

Draco thought he heard a sigh, though he couldn’t be sure if it came from him, Harry, or the woman outside of the door. But it sounded it like a good idea, so he sighed into the kiss and began to caress Harry’s body as his robe fell to the floor, untied by their movements.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard his camera shut itself down, though he was too preoccupied with Harry attacking his belt buckle to give a damn.

***

“So, the article could use some adjusting, you say?”

“Well, we shouldn’t give the ladies hope where there is clearly none,” Harry said, adjusting himself beneath Draco. His clothes and Harry’s robe lay scattered in a small radius around them. 

“Mmm,” Draco hummed against Harry’s collarbone. “So ‘Country Music’s Most Eligible Gay Bachelor’?”

Harry smirked and adjusted his glasses. “Well, that depends.”

“What does?” Draco asked, propping himself up on his side next to Harry. 

“The ‘eligible’ bit.”

“Oh? And what does it depend on?”

Harry pressed a hiss to Draco’s collarbone. “Whether or not you’ll have dinner with me.”

“I think you’ve got it backwards. Isn't dinner supposed to come before sex?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m unconventional.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “That’ll ruin my whole article.”

Harry grinned. “Well, you’ll just have to stick around until dinner time tomorrow— er— today, that is, and get some info to rewrite it with.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Some of us do have day jobs that we are required to attend, you know.”

“Not when you leave your boss a voicemail about an exclusive interview and photo shoot with your subject… And recent lay,” he added cheekily.

“My phone’s dead,” Draco said lamely.

“We can charge it.”

“We don’t know anything about each other.”

“And you’re going to let that stop you? After we’ve just fucked on the floor of my dressing room?”

Draco grinned, looking Harry’s naked body up and down, and bit his lip. “Hell no,” he said, and leaned in for another kiss.


End file.
